


Untamed

by Yen



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Butt Plugs, Catboy Erik Killmonger, Catboys, Come Eating, Forced Submission, Human T'Challa, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Sex Pollen, Spanking, Spoils of War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-12-09 01:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/pseuds/Yen
Summary: King T'Challa leaned back against his throne, surveying his spoils from their latest raid. A good haul, and just in time for the dry season too, when the harvest would be lean."We caught this one too," General Okoye said. "A catboy."





	1. Chapter 1

King T'Challa leaned back against his throne, surveying his spoils. Gold and jewels, rare artifacts and precious metals, piles of grain and smoked meats, all pillaged from the coffers of the enemy nation. A good haul, and just in time for the dry season too, when the harvest would be lean. 

"We caught this one too," General Okoye said. "A catboy. His name is Erik."

Sighs of pleasure arose from the assembled members of the court as Erik was led forward and pushed to his knees before the throne. 

Erik's hands were bound behind his back with a golden chain, and his tail was lashing in agitation from side to side. His clothes hung in bloodstained tatters around his body, ripped to expose his muscled torso, his chest heaving with deep inhales of breath as his gaze darted around the room with barely concealed wariness and fury. 

The catboy looked to be a leopard cross. His furry golden tail was spotted with black ringlets, and the same patterning appeared on the round, fluffy ears sitting atop his head. The magical golden collar around his throat suppressed his magic and prevented him from transforming completely to his leopard form, leaving only a few vestigial signs of his cat self - his fluffy rounded ears, twitching in agitation; his cat tail, lashing from side to side; and his gold-tinted eyes, as shiny and inhumanly reflective as a leopard's as he glared up at T'Challa. 

T'Challa leaned forward with interest. Catboys were very rare. There hadn't been one born in Wakanda for decades. And among catboys, such beautiful, exotic markings like Erik's were rarely found. Even Erik's _ name _ was exotic, ending in a hard consonant uncharacteristic of the Wakandan's flowing language. 

As T'Challa got up from the throne and approached Erik, the kneeling catboy looked up at him, directly in his eyes. At that, T'Challa raised an eyebrow. Erik was unusually defiant for a prisoner. But he pushed it too far when T'Challa reached out to try and stroke those soft, fluffy ears. 

Erik bared his teeth and abruptly lunged forward against his restraints, snapping his sharp little gold fangs viciously in T'Challa's direction. If T'Challa hadn't jerked his hand back just in time, the catboy's fangs would have pierced through his hand. 

"Fuck off!" Erik snarled, clear challenge in his voice. Though, trapped mid-transformation as he was by the golden collar, his snarl was nowhere close to the deep growl of a leopard, instead more akin to an angry, huffy meow. 

A thunderous frown crossed T'Challa's face. This aggression was very uncharacteristic for a catboy. They were normally supposed to he quite docile. Clearly Erik hadn't been tamed properly by whoever had owned him last, resulting in a horrid, snappy, vicious little beast. If T'Challa hadn't moved quickly enough just now, the hellcat might even have drawn his blood - the blood of a _ king. _

"Kill him," T'Challa said dismissively. With a swish of his cloak, he turned back to the throne. 

Behind him, the catboy froze with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening in horror. Even his tail had stopped moving, although the fur on it was now standing straight up and bristling. 

There were gasps of outrage from everyone else assembled in the court, from his most loyal generals down to the lowliest guard. 

"You can't do that, Your Highness!" his head priest, Zuri, cried. "This catboy is a blessing from the goddess Bast. If you kill him, we all risk incurring the wrath of the goddess herself."

Whispered murmurings of assent rippled out across the gathered crowd. Some of the more daring ones even outright nodded and clapped. 

T'Challa gritted his teeth. _ Those superstitious fools. _

But he knew that if he didn't back down, he risked having a riot on his hands. The balance of power was delicate, and even a king had to take into account the will of the people. One misstep and his own head would be on the chopping block, or he would find himself with a knife in his back. 

T'Challa held back an internal sigh as he considered his options. Meanwhile, Erik was eyeing him warily as he awaited the king's pronouncement on his fate. 

"The catboy can be taught out of his bad habits," Zuri said, his voice sweetening in persuasion. "All he needs is a firm hand and proper guidance to correct his misbehaviour. Within time, he can be trained into a well-tempered cat, one which showcases the glory of Bast." 

_ He's your problem, then, _T'Challa thought to himself. 

T'Challa nodded at Zuri. He said, "I hereby bestow the captive on the Temple of Bast and its acolytes. Our wise priests are best suited to engage in his training, and I'm sure they will take the very best care of him."

T'Challa didn't care who owned the catboy, as long as he could wash his hands of it. And now that everyone had watched him entrust Erik into the care of the priests, if anything happened to Erik in the future - say, a tragically fatal "accident" - the priests would naturally, be blamed for failing to take proper care of their gift from the King. T'Challa just had to bide his time for a suitably long period until everyone had forgotten about his initial animosity towards Erik. 

Zuri looked delighted. Even Erik had relaxed. His eyes still flashed with rebelliousness, but his tail was no longer sticking straight up and bristling. Now he curled it around his own legs, tucking it protectively close. 

T'Challa smiled inwardly to himself. The catboy had no idea what was in store for him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Barely a fortnight had passed before Zuri sought an audience with T'Challa. 

Zuri stood before the throne, wringing his hands and twisting his fingers into the long sleeves of his purple robe. Sweat beaded across his brow. 

"The catboy - he's been quite, well, unmanageable, ever since he arrived. He bit and scratched us often, but that was nothing compared to what he did today. This morning, he bit two of the acolytes when they were trying to groom him. Then he somehow managed to escape his bonds! It took the efforts of ten priests and acolytes to subdue him, and all of them were badly scratched and bitten. Thank Bast no one was killed, but Asha and N'Dezi were badly maimed, and Tyron lost an eye." Zuri wrung his hands in distress again. 

T'Challa heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, touching his fingers to his temple. 

_ Bast. _ If they had all just _ listened _ to him in the beginning… 

"You assured me you knew how to train a catboy," T'Challa said, not even bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "Have you not used the heart-shaped herb on him?" 

"Not yet, Your Highness," Zuri admitted. "We just finished harvesting a new batch of the herbs. Unfortunately, it turned out that the herbs in our stockpile were too old to be effective. We immediately began to germinate a new batch of seedlings, but it takes two weeks and the light of the full moon for the heart-shaped herb to reach maturity, and they were only ready for harvesting today. Unfortunately, after this morning's incident, none of the priests and acolytes are brave enough to go near him."

T'Challa held back another sigh. "Has the heart-shaped herb been harvested yet?" he questioned. 

"We just completed the harvest, Your Highness," Zuri said. "The herbs are ready to be used."

_ Why do I always have to do everything around here? _ T'Challa thought to himself.

But T'Challa knew that the priests simply did not have the ability to handle Erik. The incident this morning had already proved it. Even if the herb had been ready from the beginning, it was unlikely that they would have been able to tame him even when he was under the influence of the herb. They would have been too reluctant to discipline him, to show him the error of his ways.

Fortunately, T'Challa himself had no such qualms. 

“Begin preparing the herbs,” T’Challa ordered. “I will see to this myself.”

* * *

When T’Challa finally entered the specially prepared chamber in the temple two hours later, he was met with a very alluring sight.

In the centre of the chamber was a large bed covered in wine-red, silky sheets. Erik writhed about on all fours in the centre of the bed, letting out small, desperate mewls as he panted and squirmed in desperation. His wrists were bound together in front of him, his legs spread wide apart as he humped the bed, desperately trying to get release. The soft, warm light from the torches burning in their brackets cast a gentle flickering glow against Erik's dark skin, which was slick with a sheen of sweat.

A predatory smile spread across T’Challa’s face as he took in the sight of the desperately aroused catboy, on all fours with his chest down and his ass in the air. Erik's fluffy tail lashed from side to side in agitation, exposing glimpses of his slick, clenching hole to T'Challa. 

Erik turned his head to look over his shoulder when he heard the sound of the door swinging open. T'Challa noted with satisfaction that his gold-tinted eyes were bright with tears of desperation. There was a very pretty flush of arousal on his cheeks, and even though his eyes widened at the sight of T'Challa, he continued to hump the sheets in a stuttering rhythm, as if he were trying and failing to make himself stop. 

Erik squeezed his eyes shut in mortification and kept them closed for a moment, then opened his eyes to glare balefully at T'Challa.

"You bastards," Erik choked out, in between shallow pants for breath. "What did you do to me? 

T'Challa gestured at the small bowls of burning herbs surrounding the bed. Wisps of shimmering purple smoke wafted in the air, carrying the curious scent of night lilies cut through with a barely noticeable tang of spice. 

"A peculiar effect of the plant we call the heart-shaped herb," T'Challa said. "It only blooms in Wakanda, and is one of our most carefully guarded secrets. As a foreigner, you would not have known of it. When the flowers of the mature herb are burned, the aroma from the burning petals and aerosolized pollen has a very… _ stimulating _ effect on cat people. Your body now thinks that it’s in heat. The herb has no effect on humans, of course, which is what makes it so useful in training rebellious little catboys." 

Erik's eyes widened in alarm and dawning horror as he processed the implications of this revelation. 

"Make it stop or I'll kill you," Erik threatened. He hissed and bared his golden fangs at T'Challa again, but he had never looked less intimidating in this moment. 

Fearlessly, T'Challa reached a hand out to pet Erik's hair, running his fingers through his catboy's sweat-drenched locs. 

Unlike their previous encounter in the throne room, this time Erik didn't try to bite him. Unable to stop himself, Erik let out a breathless little moan as T'Challa began to stroke his soft, furry leopard ears with the pads of his fingers. Erik leaned into T'Challa's touch, a purr rumbling in his chest as his desperate humping motions evened out. He began to move more sensually now, sinuously moving his hips from side to side as T'Challa petted him. 

How fascinating. Already the catboy's behaviour was beginning to improve. 

"There is no way to make it stop," T'Challa said matter-of-factly. "The effects of the herb will only wear off after you have been mated a sufficient number of times." 

Erik froze. Before he could retaliate or even react, T'Challa shifted his hand away from Erik's ears and with a quick flick of his wrist, he seized the length of Erik's fluffy, bristling tail. Erik immediately let out an indignant, high-pitched yowl. 

Ignoring Erik's wordless protests, T'Challa wound his tail around his wrist to steady his grip, then pulled it up to expose Erik's slick, clenching asshole, peeking out from between his round, full cheeks. 

Erik inhaled sharply and began to try to struggle free. "Let _ go _ of me! _ " _

His protest trailed off into a mewl as T'Challa inserted two fingers into the slick heat of his hole without warning. His entire body tensed up. The fur on Erik's tail stood on end as T'Challa pistoned his fingers in and out, in and out of him with lewd, wet noises. 

For all of his initial protests, Erik made no further attempts to get free now that he was finally getting the fucking that his body craved. He was so on edge that after just three thrusts, his muscles rippled uncontrollably around T'Challa's fingers. His hole clenched, his tail bristled and his legs shook as he came all over the sheets with a breathless moan, trailing off into a humiliated little whimper.

T'Challa decided that he liked the sound of that. He was looking forward to drawing out more of these broken, helpless noises from Erik.

"Would you look at that mess?" T'Challa said to Erik, his voice soft and silky. He withdrew his fingers from Erik's hole with a wet squelch, ignoring the catboy's whine of distress at the loss. 

T'Challa gestured at the wet puddle of cum staining the wine-red sheets. "Clean that up," he said. 

"I - what -"

Erik's voice was thick and fuzzy, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his climax. Weak as a kitten now, he was unable to escape with his tail still firmly caught in T'Challa's grasp.

T'Challa reached under Erik from between his spread thighs, the back of his hand brushing against Erik's still-hard cock. Carelessly, he dragged his free left hand through the mess that Erik had made. The catboy's come was warm and sticky against his fingers and palm.

T'Challa gave Erik a little shove, and with his hands still bound, Erik lost his balance, toppling onto his side on the sheets so that he was now facing towards T'Challa. His thick cock jutted up from his groin, still looking hard and painfully flushed despite his orgasm. 

T'Challa cupped his hand behind the back of Erik's head, drawing Erik in towards him. He slid his come-stained, slick-stained hand beneath Erik's nose, palm facing up.

"Clean that up," he ordered again. 

Cheeks flushed and mind dazed under the influence of the heart-shaped herbs, Erik obediently opened his mouth and began to lap at T'Challa's palm with his warm, rough tongue. T'Challa could feel himself hardening as he watched the wet pink tongue disappear between Erik's plush lips as the catboy licked up his own cream.

Bast, this was _ hot. _He couldn't wait to have the catboy writhing below him, begging to be fucked and filled. 

"Now beg for my cock, little cat," T'Challa said, keeping his voice low and firm. "Don't you want me to make you feel good?" 

Erik's eyes narrowed. Some shred of logic crept back into his gaze. His eyes flashed with angry rebelliousness again, and he turned his head away from T'Challa's palm, making a big show of spitting onto the bedsheets. 

"Go to hell," Erik bit out. 

Erik cried out in shock as he was suddenly, without warning, tugged across T'Challa's lap. With his hands bound together, he could only kick out feebly as T'Challa easily manhandled him into position across his knees, hips raised and round ass tilted up. 

Erik immediately began to try to squirm free, letting out indignant meows of outrage in between his swearing. But he was still loose-limbed from climax and disoriented from his sudden shift in position. T'Challa easily countered his struggles and pinned him firmly into place. 

T'Challa wound his hand around Erik's tail again, tugging on it to force Erik to raise his ass even higher. Off-balance with his hands bound together, Erik had to spread his legs wider to stabilise himself, giving T'Challa a good eyeful of his clenching hole. 

T'Challa gave him a warning pat on his ass cheeks. Erik stilled, becoming pliant under his touch. 

"This is your last chance," T'Challa said. "Are you ready to behave?"

"Fuck you!" 

Erik's angry yowl was cut off abruptly by the sound of the first sharp slap across his ass, ringing out loudly through the chamber. 

There was a shocked, pained inhale of breath. Then Erik exclaimed, "Ow! What the _ fuck?" _

He began to squirm again, but T'Challa simply tightened his grip on Erik's tail, hard enough to make him whimper. T'Challa pulled Erik's ass up into position so that his ass was in prime position for spanking, then smacked Erik with his open right palm with enough force to send a stinging shock up his own hand. 

The effect on the catboy was more pronounced, however. He let out a sharp hiss of pain, his fur standing on end and his round, fluffy ears pressing back against his head. T'Challa recalled that in addition to its stimulating effects, the heart-shaped herb was also supposed to make the catboy very, very _ sensitive _ to touch _ . _Most interestingly, the pain did nothing to flag the catboy's erection pressing against the top of T'Challa's thighs. If anything, his cock became even harder, even as Erik let out another pained yelp. 

When he had started, T'Challa truly hadn't intended to hurt Erik too badly. It wasn't really the catboy's fault that he had been so badly trained by whomever had owned him last. This was just supposed to be light discipline befitting a child or a pet, not the flogging or outright beheading that T'Challa would have ordered of anyone else who had maimed his subjects. But there was something intoxicating about the way Erik's round ass bounced and quivered under his hand, the way his indignant yowls gave way to pained mewls and then to hitching gasps as his ass cheeks flushed and heated up under the continued flurry of slaps. T'Challa just didn't _ want _ to stop yet. The sting in his hand was building as he kept on spanking Erik, but clearly Erik was suffering more. 

Experimentally, T'Challa began to vary the strength of his slaps so that he could give his stinging palm a bit of a break. He lay down a flurry of slaps across Erik's ass at about half the strength that he had been using at the beginning. Light, more playful spanks now, across the centre of each cheek and down low where Erik's ass met his thigh. 

This sparked off another round of squirming from the catboy, now with a decidedly lustful edge to it. Instead of merely trying to avoid the stinging slaps, Erik was now grinding down into his thigh, humping him in a desperate attempt to get more friction. 

"Please. Stop. Please!" Erik forced out, his voice choked with barely-restrained tears of pain and humiliation. Even then, he continued with those little squirms against T'Challa's thigh, too turned on to stop himself. 

T'Challa was pleased. This was a great improvement compared to the catboy's initial defiance. 

His hand stilled against Erik's ass. Heat radiated out from beneath his stinging palm as the catboy lay still for a few moments, panting and trembling. Then, he took advantage of the brief respite to grind himself minutely against T'Challa, rocking back and forth in an effort to get more friction against his cock. 

Maybe Erik thought that he was being discreet, but T'Challa could feel exactly how hard and desperate Erik was right now. He patted Erik's ass again, admiring the way the full, round cheeks bounced and jiggled, then gave it a warning squeeze. 

A pained gasp escaped Erik's lips as his sore ass was squeezed hard. "No, stop," he whimpered. 

T'Challa pointedly slapped his ass again, just so Erik would know exactly who was in charge. 

Erik cried out and stiffened. Then T’Challa felt a familiar gush of wet heat against his thigh - the catboy had actually come from that last slap. 

Surprised and somewhat amused, T’Challa finally stopped the spanking. He rubbed the flat of his hand over Erik’s sore ass, then let go of Erik’s tail, intending to use both hands to pull Erik’s cheeks apart so that he could get a better look at the catboy’s hole. 

As T’Challa released his grip on Erik’s tail, it flopped back downwards. Then Erik let out a sharp cry like a scalded cat, his tail stiffening up again. Even the feeling of the soft fur brushing against his sore skin was too much to bear. 

T’Challa smirked. With Erik helpfully holding his own tail out of the way, he palmed Erik’s cheeks in each hand and prised them apart none too gently, heedless of the catboy’s pained hiss. Erik whimpered, a small high-pitched whine threaded through with humiliation as he was completely exposed to T’Challa’s gaze. Even now, his hole was still leaking slick, and T’Challa could feel his cock growing hard again against his thighs.

T’Challa brushed the pad of his fingers over the catboy’s needy, unsatisfied hole, teasing at the slick rim.

“Fuck me, please,” Erik begged, all defiance gone. 

T’Challa stood up, catching Erik in his arms before he could hit the floor. He manhandled Erik onto the bed, positioning him so that he was on all fours with his flushed, sore ass tilted up and his bound hands clasped together in front of himself. 

The catboy didn’t struggle to get away now, didn’t spit curses or swear bloody vengeance like he had in the beginning. Instead, he writhed impatiently as T’Challa got himself ready, rubbing his face into the silk sheets and swaying his hips from side to side, tail lifted up and hips thrusting forward into empty air. Desperate little mewls escaped his lips. 

T’Challa took hold of Erik’s hips, lining himself up so that the head of his hard cock was nudging against the catboy’s slick little hole. Erik was so wet and eager already that there was no need to waste time further prepping him. Besides, T’Challa liked his partners to be tight. 

He thrust his hips forward, drawing out a sharp intake of breath from Erik and then a sigh of relief as he finally felt the pressure of T'Challa's cock against his entrance. Erik’s hole opened up easily for him, soft and wet and tight around the length of T'Challa's hard cock. Erik let out a soft, satisfied purr as T'Challa began to thrust in, his tail coming back to curl itself around T’Challa’s wrist before tugging him forward encouragingly. 

As T’Challa sheathed himself in Erik to the hilt, the catboy began to move backwards in time with his thrusts, arching his back and spreading his legs so that he could take more of T‘Challa’s cock into himself. He squirmed in discomfort whenever T'Challa hips came into contact with his ass, still warm and sore from the earlier spanking, but that didn't deter him from grinding back eagerly in sync with T'Challa's thrusts. 

T'Challa fucked into Erik hard and fast, ruthlessly rutting into the catboy. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the catboy's breathless moans and meows as he was pounded into hard filled the air. It took a real effort to keep himself from spilling into the catboy's warm, clenching hole too soon. He wanted to draw out his pleasure, but the way that Erik mewled and writhed beneath him like the most well-used whore was simply irresistible. T’Challa inhaled deeply, savouring the heady rush of power from having the once-rebellious catboy completely under his control and squirming on his cock.

With a few final hard thrusts and a low groan, T’Challa closed his eyes and climaxed, releasing spurts of come into Erik’s warm body. Erik shuddered beneath him, going lax in his grip as his hole rippled and pulsed in time with his orgasm. 

The catboy might not have a refractory period when he was in heat, but unfortunately T'Challa was only human, and his cock was already starting to get oversensitive. Regretfully, he withdrew from the delicious wet heat of the catboy's body, and Erik let out a small whimper of loss. One round of fucking still wasn't enough to sate his heat. 

T'Challa ignored it - Erik would just have to wait until he was ready to go again. He looked down, and noticed that his cock was now flushed and sticky with come and slick. He gave it a perfunctory swipe across the cheeks of Erik's ass to wipe it clean, causing Erik to stiffen and gasp from the sting. It left a trail of sticky fluids, pearly white come mixing with the catboy's own slick standing out starkly against his dark skin, making the catboy look thoroughly used and well-fucked. 

Just one more thing left. 

T'Challa searched through the pockets of his discarded robe, seeking out - _ Ah. There. _ He withdraw a large jewelled plug from the depths of his pockets, an exquisitely crafted one made of heavy glass, flaring out to a jewelled golden base. 

The catboy was lying on his side, dazed and trembling, still hard and needy. He made to kneel up as T'Challa approached him again, but T'Challa pushed him down against the bedsheets, then spread his legs apart to expose his hole. It was puffy at the rim and extremely wet, leaking a trail of creamy come down the inside of his thighs. 

T'Challa swiped two fingers through the mess, scooping it up to press it within Erik's clenching hole. His fingers slid easily past the ring of muscle, loosened as it was from their earlier fucking. With his other hand, he guided the tip of the plug to Erik's entrance and pressed it into him. 

Erik squirmed. "Ow!"

The plug was _ big - _ one of the biggest T'Challa had in his possession, solid and unforgivingly thick. Despite how well-fucked Erik was, it was still a tight fit. 

"Relax," T'Challa told him. He rotated the plug between his fingers to loosen Erik's hole further, making Erik writhe against the sheets. Then he continued to fuck it into Erik until the flared jewelled base of the plug was nestling snugly between Erik's cheeks, holding in the load of come and slick. 

With any luck, the catboy would catch - unlikely on the first mating, but it still wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility. Fathering a catboy or catgirl of his own would secure T'Challa's reign like nothing else could. The people would consider him blessed by the goddess Bast. 

Erik settled down once he was stuffed full, the burn of his heat temporarily sated by the plug. His tail flopped down to cover the jewelled base, and he gave a very catlike stretch before curling up against a pillow. 

T'Challa tangled a possessive hand into Erik's hair, stroking behind his ears.

A few more minutes and then he'd be ready to enjoy his catboy again, regardless of whether Erik wanted it or not. 


End file.
